This story was written under the command of, under the influence of, and for the entertainment of, hungkinkbot. As such, the story is really his. It wrote it as his instrument.
Its reward is the opportunity of serving him by writing this and receiving his guidance.
It was almost time for the shop to close. Leo hadn’t wanted to stay late, and customers had been sparse, so he had been able to filter in, over the course of the last hour, his end-of-shift work. At the top of the hour all he would have to do is count out his till, take the money to the back, and lock up.
Which suited him. Working until midnight was an unholy pain as it was, without making it worse by having to stay late.
Standing behind the register, shifting his weight from foot to foot, Leo felt eyes suddenly on him. He jumped. Then he saw, and jumped again, worse in fact.
It was a man, six feet tall, slender but with broad shoulders. He wore a striped Fred Perry with the laurel insignia on the pocket and the trademark stripes at the collar and sleeves, tucked into nondescript slacks behind a neat, but plain, belt.
But the man’s head was black rubber. His face and head was a hood, the only skin visible behind the thin ovals of the eyes and the hole that pressed the lips together and out. Leo looked: the man’s arms were black rubber as well, right down to the black shining fingers handling his shopping basket.
Leo had no idea what to say. “You are still open, aren’t you?” the black shape offered, breaking an awkward silence.
“Oh yeah, I am, I’m sorry.” Leo blushed, and started taking the groceries out of the basket and scanning them. He guessed in this neighborhood, he should have long since come to expect this sort of thing.
“So, do you live in the area?” Leo asked, trying to make conversation. Immediately he regretted it. It sounded like he was trying to pick this guy up, which he wasn’t.
He was almost thankful when the black rubber figure obliviously ignored what he said, attentively eying the total on the cash register.
“I mean,” Leo rushed to save himself, “I haven’t seen you in here before.”
Then he realized he could be mistaken. “Of course, I could have, you know. Just you could have been without the, you know—”
Leo was starting to blush. He could feel himself getting flustered. He was almost thankful when the taciturn black figure finally said something.
“It has always worn this.”
Then Leo realized this made no sense. Obviously, this dude was not born in a latex pervert suit. Finally, as he scanned the last item and rung up the total, the obvious response popped into his head. “How long has that been?”
“Okay,” he nodded. He was curious to see what kind of card the guy would pay with, and probably would have found reading the name on it irresistible, but instead the curious figure produced cash from his wallet.
Leo made change. “Well like I said, I just haven’t seen you in here before.”
“It has been in service here three days. You asked if it lived here. That is inapplicable.” The consequences to that statement made Leo’s head swim.
“Oh,” Leo said, dully. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you. Your courtesy is noted. It will return regularly.” And with that, pocketing the change and taking the bagged groceries, the man in black latex left, the bell on the door ringing behind him as he walked out.
“Fuck!” Leo howled, relieved that awkwardness was done.
“Oh, it’s you again.” The man was standing there, tight black rubber wrapping his head, hands hidden behind rubber gloves, but apart from that, wearing jeans, button-up shirt, and sport coat.
“Buying the premade protein shakes again? I think with this, you’ll have bought us out for the time being. I’ll order more for next time, but the next shipment probably won’t be on the shelf until Monday.”
“It will check other stores nearby, then.”
As he was scanning the items, Leo felt sad. Sure, this guy was a freak, but he was his freak. Even if he did jump out of his skin a little every time the rubber man came into the store. “Oh, I hope we don’t lose your business.”
Suddenly Leo could tell that behind the featureless black of the hood, he was being studied.
“This is the store closest for it. It will continue to shop here.”
“Oh, okay, good to know.” As awkward as the conversation was, Leo was reassured.
“Would you care to let it know when you get more in?”
“Um sure, just give me your name and number.” Leo screwed his face. The rubber figure had produced a card on his own and was writing on the back a string of numbers.
Then the rubber man slid the card across the counter. Leo chuckled. What else did he expect? “So your name is 1-hyphen-5-forward slash-73-forward slash-116-forward slash-9-hyphen-2?”
“That is the designation system. This is the first city in which the designation system is established. 5 is the subarea of the city. 73 is the street’—sure enough, Leo realized, they were on 73rd street—'116 is the street address, 9 is the apartment number, 2 denotes it as the second unit established at that location.”
“But that’s your address, not your name.”
“It’s the designation system, which functions both to specify the location of units and to distinguish them in a useful way.”
“Oh, okay,” Leo chuckled, laughing off the whole thing. “At least I recognize what you wrote beneath it as a regular phone number. I’m Leo by the way.”
“No,” the rubber-clad man answered. “Within the designation system, you are 1-5/73/142/a-1.” To make it clearer, he gently took the card back, wrote down the designation, and handed it back.
Leo chuckled. “Forgive me if I prefer to still go by Leo. That seems a bit awkward. And I’m not, how did you put it? A unit.”
“1-5/73/142/a-1, you are a drone installed at this location to distribute provisions.” With that, the rubber man was now handing Leo his payment card.
Leo, annoyed, began to think how this was going from kind of amusing to ridiculous very fast. “I work here, I’m not installed”, he muttered to himself, as he ran the card and handed the improbably named 1-5/73/116/9-2 back his card. He couldn’t help but notice the name on the card said Andrew-something.
“It has upset you,” the rubber man answered.
“No, I’m fine, it’s just been a long day,” Leo smiled, remembering himself, as he handed the rubber man his receipt. “I’ll give you a call when we get those protein shakes in.”
“Very good, 1-53/73/142/a-1.” And with that, he was out the door, groceries in hand.
Nervous, Leo took a deep breath, dialed the number into the phone, and slapped it to his ear. “Fuck me,” he cursed to himself, unsure how awkward the conversation that came next would be. Then he had to catch himself. Someone had answered.
“Hi, I—uh just wanted to let you know we have your protein shakes in.”
“Is this 1-53/73/142/a-1?” answered the now familiar monotone.”
Leo really, really did not want to get into the whole insanity with the number-names again. “Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly, eager to move past it.
“Good,” came the answer, which Leo suspected was not just about the rubber guy’s satisfaction that he was going to get his protein shakes.
“Per the store’s website, you deliver.”
“Fuck,” Leo could not hide his frustration. He did not want to have to lock up the store to run a delivery, much less go to wherever rubber man lived and deal with whatever oddness would await him there.
Then he realized the perfect excuse. “We do have a minimum order size for deliveries—”
“Yes, it read that on the website. It would like ten boxes of the protein shakes, please.”
Leo wanted to say no, but he didn’t want to be subject to a complaint that he had refused delivery. He needed to keep this job, badly.
Then he realized he had been silent on the line too long. The rubber man’s voice answered: “do you require it’s address again?”
“Um no, I already have it written down. It’s 116 West 73rd, apartment 9.”
“Ring the front buzzer when you arrive, so it can admit you. Thank you. Goodbye.” Unnerved, Leo realized the rubber man’s vocal inflections were only too much like a recorded line. He was also unsettled by the idea that it was just assumed he would make the delivery.
He recalled having been called a unit by the rubber man, an installed drone. That didn’t sit any better with him now than a week ago.
He cringed when he finally heard the ding of the online order came through. Sure enough, it was who, where and what he thought it was, and it requested delivery.
Shrugging, Leo put ten boxes of shakes in two brown paper shopping bags, turned the card on the door to let people know he would be back shortly, and locked up the store. At least it was not far.
Buzzing 9 on the door of the non-descript red brick apartment building, he was admitted and walked up the stairs to the second floor. Leo couldn’t help but admit he would be curious as to what he would find.
Knocking on the door, he was met by the rubber guy, Andrew, 1-53/73-whatever, in his usual hood. It took Leo a moment to realize he was now in all rubber, without the benefit of the concealing street clothes. Full pervert suit. Leo was straining to act normal, when really he wanted to burst into hysterical laughter.
“You can set the protein shakes on the dining room table,” the rubber man instructed, gesturing Leo inside.
To be honest, Leo was a bit apprehensive about going that far into the apartment. But when he took a few steps in, he was pleasantly surprised. Certainly it was spartan, but the clean modern furnishings put him at ease. It didn’t look the part of a serial killer’s lair, that much was obvious.
Putting the groceries down, Leo noticed an odd series of tones and hums, halfway between music and meditational aids.
“What’s that?” Leo held up his finger to denote he was talking about the sounds in the air.
“It assists thinking and relaxation.”
The rubber man was pouring a cup of coffee from a pot, the black fluid matching his gear perfectly. “It has cash for a tip for you in the other room. Feel free to take some coffee, and have a seat.”
Handing Leo the coffee, he gestured towards a large, soft black leather couch in the living room of the apartment.
“Um, sure.” Leo was not the sort to respond with sarcasm to either coffee or a tip, but he badly wanted to inquire how, if he was a drone, he would warrant tipping?
Nonetheless, he walked over to the couch, sat down, sipping the coffee, feeling the dulcet tones and hums of the music sink into him. He felt oddly safe, and warm.
It was weird the guy was taking so long. And if he had called to place the order, why wouldn’t he have had tip money ready? “You know,” Leo called out, “if you want, you can just leave the tip money on your card on the next order. I really do need to be getting back.”
Then Leo looked up at the mounted flatscreen facing the luxurious couch. At first he assumed it was a TV, but now he realized it worked more like some kind of mirror making use of computer imagery, reflecting back the room facing into it.
Chuckling with curiosity, Leo realized there was something odd though about the shape that occupied the space in the room he took up.
He got up, and walked toward the flatscreen to get a better look. The him on the screen was not dressed as he was, but naked, and hairless. “Fucking crazy” he muttered to himself.
Leo stepped closer. The him on the screen had no eyes or ears. And between its legs, no cock.
The coffee cup slipped from Leo’s hand and broke on the hardwood floor. Saying nothing, he ran out, terrified.
“Leo, can I speak with you a minute?” Jose was tidying up around the register before he took off for the day, handing the store over to Leo.
“Sure,” Leo chirped, the crack in his voice betraying he knew what this was about, and that talking about it was the last thing he wanted.
“We’ve had three delivery orders come in right before closing in as many nights. They’re left untouched until the next day. Frank who helps out in the mornings has been calling first thing to see if the customer still wants them, but by that point he’s at work.”
Leo couldn’t stop himself from pulling a face at hearing that. Where in God’s name could rubber guy work?
Scowling at Leo’s expression, Jose kept on. “Each of these orders is for like a hundred dollars, and a few nights before you made another hundred dollar delivery to the same address. You understand me, this is a lot of money you not making these deliveries is costing the store. This is break-even money. If you can’t take care of these, we’re going to have to ask you to leave. You understand?”
“Yeah, the guy’s weird. You’ve said so already. Even Frank pretty much confirmed your story about him when he talked to him on the phone. But you know what? I don’t care. You’re not some 19-year-old girl I have to worry about sending on deliveries because someone’s going to get frisky with her. You’re a grown man and I expect you to take care of yourself.”
For a moment Leo was genuinely angry. “So it’s like that?”
“Yes, it is. Now are you going to make those deliveries, or am I going to have to go through the resume pile in the back to find someone who will take your shift who will?”
“Good.” And without Jose gathered his things to head out the back. “You’re just lucky I didn’t want to go to the trouble to train someone new.”
For the most part the rest of the shift was quiet. Leo could admit to himself that as scary as the situation in the rubber man’s apartment had been, he was somehow ambivalent about the prospect of going back.
It was the least surprising thing in the world when the chime let him know, an hour before close, that an online order had come in. Of course it was the same address and apartment as before. And it was more protein shakes. Biting his lip with frustration, Leo wondered how that guy was drinking them all so fast.
By the time Leo got the backs together and was ready to make the run to the rubber guy’s apartment, it was fifteen minutes before close. So he went ahead and did what was necessary so that he wouldn’t have to come back to the store when he was done. And the only cash that would exchange hands there would be his tip, if he in fact stuck around for it.
Reaching the apartment, mashing the buzzer, opening the door, Leo dreaded the embarrassment of talking to that guy again. He just convinced himself he would say whatever he had to, not take a step inside the apartment further than absolutely necessary, and then just go.
Finally, he reached the door, and lightly knocked. As if he hoped no one would come to the door, and he could just leave.
“Hi!” The door swung open, and Leo was met not by the rubber-faced man, but by Pete, the local beat cop. Leo had gotten to know Pete from a few times he had had to call the police on drunks in the store.
“Uh, hello.” Leo was very much uncertain how to proceed. Even more so when he realized Pete was not wearing any clothes, standing at an open door, facing out onto the public hallway of this apartment building, without the first sign of any apprehension.
Pete gestured towards the same dining room table that the rubber man had. “You can just set them down over there.”
Leo would have to broach the obvious as delicately as he could. “So, what are you doing here?” Surely Pete couldn’t actually be the rubber man. He was at least three inches taller, and had a much more full build.
“Oh,” Pete acted surprised by the question. “A few weeks ago some of 1-5/73/116/9-2’s neighbors called the precinct about a man wearing a mask in the building and they were concerned. I came out and talked to it. Since then I stop by occasionally to hang out and unwind.”
From the hallway leading to the bedrooms, out strode the rubber man. “It sees you have met the delivery and provisions drone, 1-53/73/142/a-1.”
Leo took this as his cue. “Well, I have to be going—”
“It owes you an apology. It did not mean to leave the device on that obviously upset you.”
Leo glanced nervously in the screen’s direction. “Yeah, what is that?”
1-5/73/116/9-2 walked into the living room, picked up a remote and clicked it. Leo flinched. But it was just static, albeit static that was slowly starting to resolve itself into shapes.
“It’s a meditation aid,” the rubber man explained. “It is meant to be used in conjunction with the auditory stimulus you are hearing now—”
With that, Leo noticed the same beeps and swells he heard the last time he was in the apartment were wafting through the air now, just so subtle he wasn’t picking them up unless he made an effort to hear them.
“A camera then scans the electronic impulses in your brain to organize the random patterns of pixels on the screen into an image personal to you. The organizing of the image occurs only in the viewer’s cognition.”
He continued. “Three different people can watch the exact same patterns and find entirely different images. Each time, it’s personal to you. I have no way of knowing, for instance, what you saw the other night. Would you like to say what you saw that upset you so much?”
The rubber man left the implication hanging in the air.
Pete interrupted. “I can watch it for hours. So soothing.”
“1-5/58/344/26-1 is a security drone,” the rubber man added, as if that followed naturally from what Pete had said.
“I’m,” Pete sighed, “a little slow catching on with the designations.”
“There is neither slow nor fast,”1-5/73/116/9-2 added. “Your use of the designation system is a measure of your degree of integration. You will become more comfortable with it as you progress.”
“So Leo, are staying? You can undress, take a seat on the couch, make yourself comfortable,” Petey grinned, almost gregarious.
1-5/73/116/9-2 interjected “by now the store should be about ready to close anyway. You might as well.”
Leo gulped hard. So now the game really was obvious. “No, I think I’ll be fine.”
He glanced up and down Pete’s muscular body, still attractive even with the extra ten or so pounds on it. For the first time though, he noticed a somewhat vacant look in Pete’s eye.
“Here is your tip, 1-53/73/142/a-1, for both tonight and the previous night.” Taking the money from the rubber man, Leo looked down at his hand and gulped. It was easily three times what he expected.
“I will place an order tomorrow night, and the night after that. You will always be welcome to stay.”
It was four nights later that a hard, driving rain drenched Leo to the skin. He had been careful. Courteous enough there would be no complaints to the store, but not taking so much as an unnecessary step into that apartment, either.
But feeling his wet shoes squeak as he climbed the stairs carrying the order of yet more protein shakes inside a precariously flimsy wet paper bag, he felt something give inside him. Before 1-5/73/116/9-2 opened the door, he knew he would accept whatever hospitality was offered.
So when the rubber man looked Leo up and down, and asked if he could run Leo’s clothes through the dryer, Leo nodded yes before he was finished with the question.
Dutifully, 1-5/73/116/9-2 escorted Leo to the bathroom just off the living room and showed him a pile of towels in the linen closet he could use to dry off and a plastic hamper in which he could put the wet clothes that would go in the dryer.
Leo was drying his hair when he realized he wouldn’t be able to stay in the bathroom the whole hour or so until his clothes were dry. And he did not want to just walk around this apartment completely naked.
Leo was already taking off his t-shirt and slapping it, soaked, into the hamper. “Um, could I have some of your clothes, I mean some of your street clothes to wear, just until my shit is dry? I’m sorry to impose like this.”
“Think nothing of it.” The rubber man disappeared, leaving the bathroom door open.
When he returned Leo’s eyes bulged and a “that’s not what I meant!” was out his lips before he knew what he was saying.
What 1-5/73/116/9-2 held was a one-piece black rubber suit, box-cut trunk legs and sleeveless top, with a zipper that began just above the crotch and went down between the legs, up the ass until terminating at the back of the neck.
“Here you are,” 1-5/73/116/9-2 explained.
“Um,” Leo held it up nervously.
“This is what you are being given,” he replied, as if this was an explanation. And with that, the rubber man shut the bathroom door to let Leo change.
Staring at the thing in his hands, Leo struggled not to hyperventilate. But eventually he realized it would just be for an hour or so, until his clothes dried. Wearing it would obviously gratify this man who was interested in him, and it might even get him a little extra in the way of a tip.
So he finished sliding off his wet clothes, toweled himself off, and pulled on the snug latex outfit. It wasn’t unflattering, Leo thought, noticing how the bulge on his crotch seemed pronounced. He ran his hand up and down his cock beneath the rubber, noticing himself get hard.
He began to realize there might be more of a challenge involved in wearing this around this apartment than he thought.
Exiting the bathroom he handed his clothes to 1-5/73/116/9-2, who sped wordlessly off to the laundry room, without so much as pausing to hear Leo’s sheepish “thanks.”
Tentative, Leo walked back into the living room. There, naked, like he had not left, was Pete. Even in this situation, Pete’s presence was vaguely reassuring.
“Hi Pete. I didn’t see you when you came in.”
“Hello, 1-53/73/142/a-1. Take a seat.” Leo noted a change in his voice.
With nothing else to do, he sat down on the opposite end of the couch from the naked policeman, who was staring, jaw agape, at the screen.
“What do you see?” Leo asked.
“If I had words for it, I wouldn’t need to see it,” answered Pete.
Finally, Leo turned and faced the screen. He saw the same hairless, eyeless, earless thing in the place of him, wearing his skin, that he had before. But this time he wasn’t as scared.
“Let it happen,” he heard Pete say.
When Leo woke up he was in his own bed, light cascading through the windows all around him. He was still wearing the latex suit. Obviously, he had walked home wearing it. He had no memory of it, but that had to have been what had happened. For a moment, Leo was terrified. Then he said to himself, “cool.”
It was his day off. For once, Leo had no work, and no plans beyond laundry, the grim necessities of housecleaning, and some daydrinking.
But, feeling the thick black latex pressed tight against his body, he felt that had somehow all changed. He liked the way it stretched across his ass. He had to work to keep himself from running his hands across his body. Then he had to work to keep from doing more than that.
Was this how it happened, whatever it was 1-5/73/116/9-2 wanted so badly for him?
Then, forcing himself out of bed, it—Leo caught himself, he—looked in the laundry hamper. The wet clothes he had exchanged for the rubber half-suit were not there. Nor were they draped on the couch or in the usual places Leo left his clothes on the floor. He had to have left his clothes there, in that apartment.
It, he, put aside for the moment the horror at the thought he had somehow walked home wearing only the rubber. He had to get his clothes. And he had to give this suit back.
Panicked, he went about his morning routine as best he could. Shaved, brushed his teeth, put on some loose street clothes that hid the tight suit well. Finally, almost out the door, he checked his phone.
In place of all the familiar buttons of the various apps against the phone background there were just two: mandatory and discretionary. Discretionary did not work. Nothing happened when he pressed it. It was like the screen was frozen.
Then he pressed mandatory, and it pulled up a message, without an identifying screenname of any kind: “1-53/73/142/a-1 masturbates.”
“What the fuck,” it, but then he caught himself, he, mewled.
“1-53/73/142/a-1 masturbates” the message repeated.
Leo started jamming numbers with his fingers, angry at being told what to do. Nothing he did would get the phone off the screen. He tried turning it off and on again, but the phone would not even turn off on command.
Again, the message repeated. “1-53/73/142/a-1 masturbates.”
Frustrated and angry, Leo began to think this might actually be the easiest way to unlock the phone. He was mildly horny in the rubber suit, after all. But he feared and detested the idea of just blindly following commands.
It was not going to just do as it was told because it was told—
Then he felt himself getting hard in his rubber suit. He started working the cock beneath the rubber, as his mind began to fixate on following instructions and doing as he was told.
He retreated to his bedroom, flopped down on his bed, and unzipping the suit, fished out his cock. Five minutes later he was laying there, breathing hard, white pools of cum on his shining black belly.
He picked up his phone. He pressed the discretionary button, and this time it brought up all his usual apps. But then a message came through, marked mandatory: “1-53/73/142/a-1 next masturbates in 3 hours 54 minutes.”
When he saw the message, he now felt a pang of compulsion. Like he knew this was something expected and he had to comply. What was happening to it?
Leo stood at the door. He was dressed for the street, a button-up shirt and loose gym shorts visible, tennis shoes on his feet, but beneath it he felt the tight rubber on his skin driving him crazy.
He swayed a little as he knocked. To Leo’s surprise the door opened and revealed a guy with long wavy blonde hair he had not seen before.
“Oh hi. I’m the implementations technician. I guess you can call me the cable guy. I’m guessing you’re 1-53/73/142/a-1?”
“Um, yes,” it answered, suddenly more certain in its status as it, feeling for the first time that number described it.
“Come in,” the cable guy beamed.
Leo stepped in, and the door closed behind him.
“Have a seat,” he added, and gestured to an open chair at the kitchen table where Leo had been placing the groceries. Stiffly, Leo walked over and sat, placing one hand on each knee in a way that made him feel almost like a mannequin.
The cable guy followed, and sat down opposite Leo, taking up a tablet. “So, your phone is giving you instructions?”
“Yes,” Leo said, blankly. “How are you with that?” he asked next.
“I don’t understand,” came Leo’s answer.
“Good,” the cable guy smiled and typed some with his thumbs. “Are you complying?”
“Um,” Leo struggled with something, but he couldn’t quite tell what. “Yeah.”
“Are you making a choice to comply, or is this just happening?”
The cable guy chuckled. “Good. Good, good, good. Excellent, actually.”
“If you say so.” The words just came to Leo’s lips.
“I do.” The cable guy entered some more information. “Now, check your phone.” This Leo did. The cable guy grinned. “When are you next scheduled to jerk off?”
“Wow, so are you going to keep that appointment?”
“But what if you’re on the subway? What if you’re working? What if you’re on the street?”
“I—”Leo’s mind blanked again. He squinted, he shook his head. All this sounded crazy to him. But also he weirdly felt his gorge rise. Something was wrong. What was wrong?
“So there’s your limit,” the cable guy nodded.
“Um, I guess,” Leo answered, sheepishly.
“You’re okay,” the cable guy answered. “This is exactly what I’m here for.”
He tapped a few keys into his tablet. Leo heard footsteps from the other room. The cable guy looked up at him. “You have interacted with 1-5/58/344/26-1 before, am I right?”
Leo looked up. It was Pete, standing in front of him, head shaved, wearing a latex sheathe that went from his neck to his toes. “Uh, yes.” The cable guy spoke to Pete. “Designation?”
Eyes glassy, voice distant, Pete answered “1-5/58/344/26-1.”
“Who’s Pete?” the cable guy continued. “Someone I was, when I was someone” 1-5/58/344/26-1 said, matter-of-factly.
“See how pleasant that is?” the cable guy asked Leo.
Then he added, “1-5/58/344/26-1, turn your head left.”
1-5/58/344/26-1 turned its head, revealing what looked to Leo like a hearing aid.
A small box, fitted to a spiraled wire that led discreetly into the ear. “Presently, 1-53/73/142/a-1, 1-5/58/344/26-1 has been sensorily modified to receive a constant auditory stimulus feed. It’s the same as the auditory stimulus you receive when you are in this apartment. It’s the same as the one you’re listening to right now. What do you think of the audio feed you’re listening to right now?”
“Wow, that’s so great,” the cable guy chirped. “Flying colors, all around.” “So what we’re going to do is fit with you a device the same as the one 1-5/58/344/26-1 is wearing. It’s going to enable you to receive proper stimulus and low-specificity instruction whether you’re here in the apartment, or not. Like it does, now. So you’re always going to be connected to us, and to the process. What do you think of that?”
Suddenly, Leo’s mind swam. “Um, it terrifies me.”
“But you’re going to sit there while I install it, right?”
“Um,” his voice caught in his throat. “Yeah.”
“That’s great. That’s really great.” The cable guy seemed pleased. “And when I’m done, you will jerk off, how about that?”
“Okay,” the cable guy repeated. “Now, first thing’s first. Designation?”
“1-53/73/142/a-1,” it heard itself say, suddenly aware of Leo has something other.
“You are doing so well. Let’s get started.”
At the gym, Leo navigated the machines in a fog. Glancing at the mirrored walls, he saw something unfamiliar. It was hairless, with a shaved head and shaved eyebrows.
Its expression was dull, unfocused, and its mouth hung open. Beneath its flimsy hoody the black latex of the shortsuit was visible, and his thin gym shorts did not extend as far as the black rubber on his thighs. Occasionally he would realize eyes were on him.
But he did not attach meaning or significance to the fact that they were. Far more important was the cycle of sounds and hums fed into his right ear from a tiny box just behind it, by means of a small coiled cord.
Occasionally, he would freeze, his eyelids would flutter, and his jaw would move. People would stare more. But it did not matter that they did. It was a near-constant effort now to think of himself as himself, as Leo, not 1-53/73/142/a-1. Something about that effort made him erect. He could feel his cock, bobbing sweatily inside the rubber, pressed against his leg. Maybe he should pay more attention to how noticeable that was in a public place, but he didn’t.
His phone buzzed, and the buzz echoed in his earpiece in a way that was impossible to ignore. Just the alert came through the piece presently, though. Eventually, the messages that came through now in the form of written texts would be a voice in his head. And the voice would sound just like his own. He had been told this would be helpful.
He fished out his phone from his pocket, and checked it. The screen told him he was to be at a certain address at nine tonight. Not the apartment where he had been before, but some other place.
He thought to himself, “don’t I have a shift tonight?”
Leo didn’t want to get fired. But he, or rather it, had its instructions. That was what mattered.
The part of town where the mandatory instruction had brought Leo was all warehouses, light industry and specialty repair businesses. It had been a long walk from the subway, and Leo had already been tired from the gym.
He reached the address. It was a lumber store, but by the look of it, it had not been open for business in some while.
His phone told him “1-53/73/142/a-1 stands by the door. It does not permit anyone entrance or exit.”
Sighing, Leo did as instructed. Which was too bad, as he had to piss. But the phone had not said he could, and that was not in the instructions, so he knew he better not.
He had no idea how long he had been like that. Somehow, it felt like his perception of time had been turned off.
Inside the lumber store, he heard the slamming of a door, then footsteps running fast toward him. Suddenly the metal front door sprang open, almost hitting him in the face.
Leo was staring straight into the face of a man slightly shorter than him, with curly blonde hair and ice blue eyes. His face was panicked.
“Fuck!” he screamed, almost in Leo’s face, and started running down the street.
It took Leo a long second to realize this was his assignment. He ran after the guy.
He wanted to say “Excluse me, stop” or something of the like, but somehow no words came to his lips. Words were not used in the instructions to him. He was not to permit an exit. This was definitely an exit. They were not going to talk it out.
“Get the fuck away from me!” The man cried. “I know what you are!”
Almost in passing, Leo thought to himself, good, that makes one of us.
He ran as hard as he could, through mudpuddles that reflected the dim and flickering streetlights. In passing he was glad that the rubber he was wearing would keep him from getting wet.
Finally, the blonde man stumbled badly and sprawled on the ground. Without thinking, Leo jumped on top of him and straddled him. He didn’t even know what to say. He wanted to tell him to stop struggling, but could not even tell for sure if he was supposed to do that.
All the while, the blonde man screamed “Fuck! Get off me! I won’t do it! I won’t go back in there! You’ll have to fucking kill me. I won’t be made into some thing. Oh, God.”
Leo looked down, and saw the blonde man was wearing a rubber suit, one that covered his whole body, including his fingers and toes. He was, Leo realized, one of them. Whatever, in fact, they were. Whether they, whatever they were, now included him or not.
“Fuck,” he was howling now. “Don’t you get it. They’re going to train you until you’re not even human anymore. Until you don’t even know you can say no. They want me–they want me to be–I can’t even fucking say it!”
Leo’s full attention was being spent trying to keep the man from getting back up.
“Look, dude, you’re still not fully covered yet, you’re still you, more or less. Let me up. I’ll get that thing out of your ear, we’ll run. We can still do this, alright?”
Leo finally was able to say something. “No.” He didn’t even have to think about it.
“Why? For the love of God, why?” The blonde man was crying now, in ragged sobs.
Leo was frustrated because he had no answer.
He heard footsteps, almost impossibly leisurely compared to the struggling of the man beneath him. Leo looked up. It was the cable guy.
“Very good job, 1-53/73/142/a-1,” the cable guy grinned. “Now this post-human bio-mass has proven itself unviable. If I were to tell you to dispose of him, would you do it?”
Leo struggled. Finally he was able to say, “I would follow instructions.”
“That’s wonderful,” the cable guy said, clapping his hands together, pleased.
Leo paused for a moment, uncertain as to whether this counted as the actual instruction to go ahead.
“1-5/73/116/9-2, are you satisfied with 1-53/73/142/a-1‘s performance?” the cable guy asked.
Immediately the demeanor of the man beneath him changed. His eyes went glassy and his mouth a bit slack. “Entirely,” the blonde man, who had just been fighting for his life just moments before, gave a neutral smile.
“This was a test?” Leo asked, to no one in particular.
“Yes,” the blonde man answered.
Leo climbed off of him. The blonde man stood in front of the cable guy, who was already placing a hood over his head and zipping it into place.
“So that was fake?” Leo half-mumbled. “He really wasn’t trying to run?”
“Oh,” the cable guy started chuckling. “That much was real.” It’s just that our friend 1-5/73/116/9-2 here has a special protocol that allows for a full temporary cessation of his programming, so that the pre-existing human personality, can reassert itself long enough to flee. The realism is very helpful.”
“Oh,” Leo answered, maybe a bit troubled by all this. If he could still be troubled.
“So,” the cable guy grinned widely. “Let’s get you inside. We need to get you fitted for your new suit, and we need to say goodbye to Leo permanently. What do you think about that?”
He paused for a long moment. “I don’t,” he said, and could say no more.
“Perfect!” the cable guy chirped.
